


Pizza Time

by the_oncoming_drizzle



Series: The Unnamed [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: "On Your Left.", Gen, Humor, Pizza, Post-Avengers (2012), Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:29:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27634801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_oncoming_drizzle/pseuds/the_oncoming_drizzle
Summary: On what would otherwise be a normal night, a short-staffed New York pizza parlor receives an order for 15 pizzas, all to be delivered to the penthouse of Stark Tower. There's only one delivery guy available, and he's actually doing okay....Until someone bumps his precarious stack of pizza boxes.Lucky for him, super heroes don't just help with alien invasions.
Series: The Unnamed [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2017469
Kudos: 11





	Pizza Time

We were short-staffed that night. There were three guys making pizzas, one of which was a trainee (which means you can’t trust them in the kitchen alone, EVER), one guy watching the register and taking orders, and me, the only one available to do deliveries.

It had been a pretty normal night otherwise, which was good. Not so much business that we were swamped, but not so dead that we were bored.

And then someone called and ordered fifteen pizzas. _Fifteen._ And eight of them had different toppings. (By the way, who the heck orders anchovies, extra pineapple, banana peppers, jalapeños, and olives with a barbeque sauce base on the same pizza?!)

Normally, we wouldn’t be too thrilled about having to make fifteen pizzas on such short notice, but there had been a huge tip promised to each of us, so no one was complaining.

Well, no one was complaining until I remembered that I was going to have to haul all the pizzas there myself, since the only other delivery guy was out sick. I might have complained a bit about that.

So, there I was, rolling up to Stark Tower with fifteen pizzas. I hoped Stark Tech would come out with a decently-priced pizza-delivery drone at some point, because I was cutting it close to the 30-minutes or free guarantee (which, unfortunately, we had to honor because Stark Tower was within our delivery radius and because the buyer had paid extra in gratuity anyway). I parked my scooter, grabbed all the pizzas (because there was no way I was risking someone stealing pizza while I took multiple trips), and made my way to the door.

I bumped the handicap access button and made it through the door, showed the receipt to the security guard so I wouldn’t get tased, and headed over to the elevator. Just as I was gearing up to bump the “up” button, the elevator dinged and someone bumped me.

I was sure I was going to drop at least six of the pizzas (I didn’t have one delivery bag that was big enough, so I was carrying five bags stacked on top of each other that each held three boxes, and let me tell you, keeping that on the back of my scooter had been a _nightmare_ ), but whoever had bumped me managed to catch the bags and steady them.

“Whoa, sorry about that!” the person said.

I looked around the side of the tower of bags.

A tall, muscular guy with short blond hair was smiling apologetically at me.

“Want some help getting these upstairs?” he asked.

I frowned. I didn’t think anyone in Stark Tower would try to nab a free pizza, but I prefer to be safe rather than sorry (at least, when I’m on the clock).

“Uhh…”

“Don’t worry; the order’s ours,” he said. ”Fifteen pizzas up to the penthouse, right?”

“And one of them’s got barbeque sauce, anchovies, and a whole other mess of unholy toppings on it?” Another guy, smaller with dark, curly hair, had come out of the elevator too. He was smiling, but there was something nervous about his smile.

Yeah, there was no way that anyone could have known about what the other pizza guys and I had dubbed “the trash pizza” unless they were the ones who had ordered it. And the idea of having someone help me get all the pizzas upstairs was pretty appealing.

“Yeah, if you wouldn’t mind helping me, that’d be great,” I said.

The blonde guy took three of the bags, the dark-haired guy took one, and we got in the elevator. I pushed the button for the right floor and checked my phone. I was still within the thirty-minute guarantee, and I let out a sigh of relief.

The silence in the elevator quickly became awkward. I was trying to gear myself up to at least say “thank you” or something, but the blond guy beat me to it.

“Sorry about the short notice for such a big order,” he said.

I smiled politely.

“Must be some party,” I said.

The dark-haired guy gave a quiet huff of laughter. “You could say that,” he said.

After a few more seconds of silence, I had run out of things to look at inside the elevator, so I looked at the receipt for the pizzas. My mouth quirked into a smile. Back at work, the guy at the register had said the name on the order, but all of us were sure he had misheard it over the phone. We were too busy talking about the “trash pizza” to be focused on the name anyway, and had just laughed it off. Besides, why would this guy put in an order to our shop when he could have bacon-wrapped filet mignon or whatever billionaires ate for dinner?

“So… who’s ‘Tony Stank’?” I asked. “Is that like some kind of corporate inside joke?”

The two guys looked at each other with raised eyebrows.

“Clint?” asked the blond one.

“Clint,” replied the dark-haired one, with a nod.

Then they both started laughing.

I snickered a little.

“So… corporate joke, then?”

“Not corporate, no,” the blond guy said. He looked at the other guy. “Should’ve guessed why Clint volunteered to handle ordering.”

“And why he left the room to do it.” The dark-haired guy was grinning.

I wasn’t any less confused than before I had asked, but the laughs from these two were oddly infectious, so I decided to keep it going.

“So, if you don’t mind me asking… who ordered the trash pizza?”

“Trash pizza?” blond guy asked.

“Yeah, the one with the barbeque sauce and anchovies.”

“Oh, that was definitely Clint,” the dark-haired guy said. “I heard him ordering it.”

I didn’t know who this Clint guy was, but he seemed like a riot (I mean, he was probably a psychopath or something, given his taste in pizza, but still).

Finally, the elevator doors opened, and the blond guy led the way into the penthouse.

“Hey, Clint! I’ve got your trash pizza!” he called.

“Don’t knock it till you try it, Cap!” replied one of the other guys, putting down his Wii remote. MarioKart was on a big screen.

“Don’t listen to him. Avoid it at all costs,” said a redheaded lady, who also put down her remote. “You’ll see anchovies in your nightmares for a week.”

“Oh, has the food arrived?” asked another blond guy, who was still holding his remote. Unlike the other blond guy, he had long hair and a beard.

“Gotta go, Pepper, dinner time… Hey, go ahead and set it on the coffee table,” said a guy with a _very_ distinct beard and mustache combo, striding in and gesturing at a coffee table in the middle of the room as he pocketed a phone.

I froze in my tracks.

Holy flippin’ crud, it was _Tony Stark_.

And that meant…

“Did I just… deliver pizza to… Tony Stark?” I asked, trying very hard not to let my voice squeak.

Tony Stark came over, clapped me on the shoulder, and grinned.

“Yep!” he said, with a wink.

And then something else clicked. I looked slowly to my left.

“...Captain America?”

The blond guy swallowed and looked slightly embarrassed, but he was smiling.

“Yep.”

Handing over the pizza and getting my copy of the receipt signed kind of happened in a blur. I finally snapped out of it as I neared the elevator. I turned for a last look at this crazy family-night… _thing_ as I got in.

“So how come you two get all the love?” asked the trash-pizza guy, Clint. His mouth was full of pizza.

“Uh, because _I’m_ a billionaire and _he’s_ got almost 70 years of publicity under his belt, Legolas… Okay, who put ‘Tony Stank’ as the name on the order?!”

There was a lot of laughing, mixed with Tony Stark going, “Real mature, guys, real mature!” as the elevator doors finally closed.

In short: Best. Delivery. Ever.


End file.
